Crazy Dangerous
by closetphilosopher
Summary: AU, Spitfire. Wally is a spy working for the "League" and is sent on a simple information-gathering mission when he quickly stumbles upon an operation well above his clearance level—and upon a certain blonde he just can't seem to figure out.
1. Chapter 1

Wally fell onto the bar stool and put his head in his hands. He felt too old for this job, which was ridiculous, since he was only twenty-six. He knew men in their sixties who were still going at it—granted, not many, but they existed.

"What can I get ya' sugar." said the bartender, a middle-aged, dark-haired woman with tattoos covering both her arms and no emotions written in her expression.

"Nothing, sorry." he looked up at her with a smile that wiped away every trace of doubt and exhaustion from the corners of his face. "I only came in for a bit of shade." It was a convincing lie, as his shirt was completely saturated with sweat from the sweltering sun outside. "If I'm a nuisance, I'll leave."

The woman looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, assessing him, and then said, "I'll get you some water."

Wally gave her a grateful look before she turned away again, then he went back to brooding. Sometimes he thought he wasn't cut out for the field. He had started out at nineteen working in the labs with the other scientists on wonderfully innovative technologies of defense, but four years ago someone had glanced at his file and seen something that changed his entire career with the company—he had been nationally ranked in high school track. Normally, such a thing meant very little—all the field agents were extraordinary in some way athletically, it's usually how they got involved with the company in the first place. The problem was that he wasn't a field agent.

"Here you go, just what the doc ordered." the bartender said, setting a sweating glass of water down in front of him. He smiled at her again, and she nodded in welcome before walking away. He gulped the water down in seconds and then settled in to chomp on the ice cubes.

He remembered the first day they inquired about his high school track career. Some stiff higher-ups in trim black suits had come into the lab to speak with his supervisor. No one knew what they were doing there; the sight was either very bad or very good, and it made everyone anxious. They pulled him out of the lab and took him to a training facility he didn't normally have clearance to use, one with a full track and every possible convenience. Then they told him to run.

He was out of ice. He stared at the empty glass for a moment before standing up and reaching for his wallet.

"Don't bother, sugar." the bartender said, waving him off.

"I'm not in the habit of accepting favors." Wally replied, smiling, before setting some bills on the counter and placing the glass on top of them. Then he sauntered out the door into the crippling heat and pounding sunshine.

This island, though quite notorious for being the retirement home of many an international criminal, was one of the most peaceful he had ever set foot on. No one had any quarrels with anyone else, and everyone had money—it was the perfect setup. It was beautiful too. White beaches and brick roads, mortar-washed houses and yachts on the horizon. It was a twenty-minute ride to the mainland, the perfect distance for commerce but never trouble. The government knew, of course, but would never do anything for fear of what would happen to them in return. Wally didn't have much of an opinion on it one way or the other, he was just here to do his job.

Training for the field was hardly a walk in the park. The ability to run fast only helped with a portion of the skills required to be a decent agent. They had put him through combat training and rifle training and software hacking and so many simulations that his head hurt to remember them. He was a quick learner but a terrible marksman-he preferred hand-to-hand combat. It had taken weeks of simulations to repress his preference for flight over fight, but eventually he got the hang of it.

As he turned left and began to walk down a shady alleyway, there suddenly came the piercing sound of a siren whirring down the street behind him and he turned to look as a fire truck flew past. Were this his home city, he would feel a bit of curiosity and then dismiss the spectacle altogether, but on this tiny island such a sight was rare and important. So instead of cutting through the alley to his hotel, he turned and slipped back into the bar and asked the bartender what was going on.

"I just got a call about that. There's a fire up at the Crock mansion, whole thing's gone up in flames, apparently. They didn't say why." she shrugged.

"Crock?" Wally asked, sounding the unfamiliar name out to see if it fit anything he was supposed to be looking into while he was here.

"Old family money, rumor is they got into the diamond trade about two hundred years back and have been sittin' pretty ever since." Wally could tell she was lying because everyone on this island lied about the origins of money, but he didn't bother pressing her about the truth because he was more curious about why someone would set fire to a house on an island like this. He thanked her again and left.

He could still hear the sirens, so he followed his ears, running up the street and over the crest of a hill. There, from this vantage point, he could plainly see the house in question. It was a sickening sight. The entire thing was a blob of orange and grey billowing upward into the darkening sky. The firemen had just made it and were pumping the building with as much water as they possibly could, but Wally knew they wouldn't be able to save the house. Squinting, he watched one of the firemen hold back a woman who was trying to get back toward the flames. She was yelling and kicking with such force that the fireman had to call for backup, forcing another of the firemen to put down his water hose. She didn't seem to realize that she was hindering them so much.

Wally didn't think. If he thought, he wouldn't do it. If he so much as paused to consider how many company rules he was breaking he would turn around and walk away.

But he knew he would regret it.

He ran toward the burning house.

The woman was younger than he had thought from a distance—and stronger, apparently, because he could have sworn she was winning her battle with the two larger firemen. Her very long blonde hair was coming loose from its binding and her eyes were wide with horror and a kind of desperation that made his heart sink. They tried to corral her as she screamed relentlessly at the flames; she was screaming for her mother.

Wally paused only briefly to catch her gaze, stilling her efforts to escape. He knew she saw the intent in them because all at once she burst into body-wracking sobs and sank to the ground. In the next instant, Wally had turned toward the flames and broken into a run. The firemen shouted behind him, but he was too fast and wasn't listening. His heart was pounding in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his bloodstream, from his feet to his brain and back again. This was crazy dangerous, but for some reason he knew that this was the greatest moment of his life.

Seconds later he disappeared into a wall of smoke.

* * *

Artemis fell into the plastic chair and put her head in her hands. She was too young for this—too young to be sitting in a hospital room next to the unmoving body of her mother. What would Jade say if she could see her now? She'd probably laugh, because that's what Jade usually did.

"How are you?"

Slowly, she looked up at him, at his bright red hair and sharp green eyes and blank expression—it was silly how grateful she was to this stranger. Her heart swelled just to sit in his presence. If he hadn't come when he did, her mother would be dead. He had saved so much more than he could ever dare to guess.

"Hello." she began, standing shakily.

"Hello." he replied, crossing his arms.

She held back. What else was there to do? They didn't know each other. She wasn't sure that was what she wanted. Is that what he wanted?

Stop it, she told herself sternly.

"Thank you," she blurted suddenly, then shied away again, wringing her hands. "Thank you for rescuing her. The fact that you risked your life...I can never repay you for that." She sniffled and walked closer to the bed to take her mother's still hand. "That house and my mother are all I have here on this island. Houses can be rebuilt, but if she was gone...I'd—" her voice broke as her eyes filled with tears.

"Stop," the man said, but gently, not harshly. She understood. He was telling her to be strong. Another day, in another situation, having someone question her strength would've made her want to rip their head off, but right at this moment she was able to appreciate the advice.

Sniffing again, she shuffled back to the chair and slid into it, wiping her cheeks off with the back of her hand. She hated crying—"the overflow of weakness" as her father had once so eloquently put it—but today was a special circumstance and she was sure that if she could just cry a little she would be able to suffer the rest in silence.

"Here," she heard the man say, and she looked up at him. "Drink this."

He was holding a styrofoam cup filled with ice water out to her like an olive branch, his his eyes searching her own.

Silently she nodded her thanks and accepted the offering, feeling irrationally guilty. The resentment of pity and charity and debt was something rooted very deep within her. Even though she could tell herself to accept help from others, she still couldn't tell herself to feel happy about it. Here she was, a weapon from birth, sitting crying in a hospital room next to her unconscious mother, accepting help from a stranger and feeling like the lowest form of life for it.

Oh, how she hated this about herself. What was worse, perhaps, was the way she knew why she was like this. Her father's training had never been reasonable, but that didn't mean it wasn't effective, even if she had refused him in the end. It had been conditioning more than training, really, because he didn't just teach her how to fight—he taught her how not to feel, how to turn off her humanity, how to loathe things that were right and good about the world. If she had never met Green, she would probably have ended up worse off than her sister.

Stop it, she told herself again, and took a drink. The faint tinge of salt on her lips brought her back to reality.

"What are the doctors saying?" the man asked, somewhat causally, after a minute of silence.

Artemis took a deep breath. "She will never walk again—all the muscle and tissue damage...They almost had to amputate, but held off. I don't know if that's better or worse, but she still hasn't woken up." She took another gulp of water.

"I'm sorry." he said uselessly, and she could hear a faint trace of vulnerability in his voice, one he probably didn't want there. A normal person probably wouldn't have picked up on it.

"Not your fault." she shrugged him off without mentioning it.

The next few moments of silence were spent with each of them looking anywhere but at each other. Then the nurse walked back into the room.

"Ms. Crock?" she said gently, glancing between her and the man with an uncertain expression.

"Yes?" Artemis answered.

"I'm so sorry, miss, but we can't allow you to stay here tonight." To her credit, the nurse really did seem sincere in her apology. This must've been an issue before.

Artemis nodded in understanding and stood again, walking to the bedside and leaning down to kiss her mother on the forehead before exiting the room. The man followed behind her and the nurse shut the door. She stared at it for a moment, at the simple wooden texture on the surface, the lack of reinforcements. The logical part of her knew her mother would be safe here, in this hospital, for one night at least, but the attack on their home had been unpredictable, and even though she didn't think another was imminent the emotional side of her was still going to worry all night.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" the man asked when they were alone in the emergency waiting room. Artemis searched his face for some tell-tale emotion, wondering why he wanted to know, before remembering that, of course, her house had just burned down and he had watched it happen; he had risked his life for them, it wasn't too far of a stretch to imagine he might be worried that she was out on the streets for the night.

Hesitantly, her mind already formulating a plan, she said, "I have to make a call."


	2. Chapter 2

The girl turned away from him and walked toward the pay phone without another word, her long blonde ponytail swishing behind her like a cat's tail. She didn't look well, Wally thought idly, noticing the soot on her clothes and the way her shoulders sagged forward, but she looked strong, like a fighter, which only made him want to know more about her.

Quickly he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He had missed check-in with the League about an hour ago. After handing the injured woman over to the paramedics and getting a bit of unwanted treatment for his own scrapes and bruises, he had run back to his hotel to wash away the smoke and ash before rushing to the hospital. It wasn't that he cared about the girl or her mother, he had told himself, more than once—and he half believed it. But this kind of incident wasnt accidental. Someone wanted one or both of them killed in that fire and had nearly succeeded. It really wasn't his problem, but he had stupidly made it his problem when he had intervened. Now half the island was probably tuned in to his whereabouts, asking questions, trying to figure out who he was and why he was here. It was a disaster.

Sighing, he hit the contact and put the cell phone up to his ear.

"Well it's about time." Dick said the second he picked up at the other end of the line. "Where the heck have you been, West?"

"I got...sidetracked." Wally answered vaguely, trying to formulate the rest of his excuse and regretting having not thought up one earlier.

Dick laughed. "Alright, man! Good for you."

"No," Wally chuckled without amusement. "Not that kind of sidetracked—get your mind out of the gutter. A lot has been happening, I didn't have the time to call."

"Dude, don't bother protesting-you're basically on traffic duty. You know nothing happens there." Yes, Wally wanted to shout, I know; that's why I was sent here and we both know it. But that was a conversation for another day.

He rubbed his strained eyes. "Well something did today."

"Spill then." Dick said, with a resigned tone.

And Wally did, starting at the bar. He skirted around giving Dick his reasons for saving the woman, not wanting to go into them just yet, not that he thought he would be able to avoid it forever. Dick, for all his previous teasing, listened without comment until he knew Wally was finished speaking. "They were targeted, I'm positive, I just don't know why or by whom." he said.

"How do you know?"

"Experience." Wally answered. "But that mystery will have to be solved from my end. There's actually something I want you to look into for me."

"Sure, man, whatever you need." Dick answered without hesitation.

"When I was running through the building, I saw something that struck me as familiar, but I can't for the life of me remember where I've seen it before—there was a burning tapestry on the wall in the hallway with this...emblem on it."

"Describe it to me."

"It was half gone by the time I reached it, but there was a large diamond with an embroidered 's' inside of it, surrounded by something like stars—though those could've just been embers, the smoke was so thick and I was on the run..."

"Aright, well it doesn't sound like anything I've come across before, but I'll look into it and maybe we'll get lucky."

"Thanks man, I owe you one."

Dick laughed, cackled really. "You owe me more than one—you've owed me since high school, don't think I've forgotten anything. I also had to cover for your hide this afternoon when you missed check-in, not that you'd care to hear that people are actually concerned about you being in the field."

"They don't need to worry." Wally grumbled. Despite missing the peace and familiarity of the lab, he didn't want anyone getting the wrong impression that he was failing out in the real world-especially not while he was on traffic duty.

"That sounds more like the Wally I remember." Dick still sounded amused. "Alright, don't you dare miss check-in next week, you hear me?"

"I hear you." Wally said, and before he could get another word in, the line went dead.

* * *

Artemis turned and walked down the hall a bit to the pay phone, glancing back only once to see if the man was still there. Thankfully, he had his cell phone out and was leaning against the wall, paying no attention to her. She quickly picked up the receiver and tapped out the emergency cell number that was forever branded on her mind. The call was answered after only one ring.

"Artemis?" Green said, worry evident in his tone.

She took a deep breath. "Have you heard?" she asked.

"Yes." he said solemnly. "Your mother will live?"

"She will never walk." The words tasted like acid on her tongue, but it needed to be said first. It was harder to admit out loud to Green than it had been silently to herself or to the stranger. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her, but she is alive."

"I'm so relieved." He sounded sincere, and Artemis believed him; his relief helped her forget for a moment that things were unimaginably grim and pretend that the worst was behind her. "I sent a car just moments ago, obviously you'll be staying with me until we get this situation sorted out. Everything is going to be fine."

"Thank you," Artemis whispered, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the pay phone box with a sigh of mingled relief and agitation. The debts just kept piling up. She already owed Green so much, but she had no other choice, there was no other road to turn down if she wanted to stay out of the Shadows. "I appreciate it, Green, you will never know how much I really do."

"I would do anything for you, Artemis, you know that, and your mother as well. Do you have anyone there with you now?" he asked, and she suddenly realized that, of course, he had heard that bit as well. This island was worse than a church.

"The man is here, yes." She gulped, unsure why renewed guilt suddenly washed over her or why her cheeks had become flushed. "I don't perceive any threat, but my gratitude may be clouding my objectivity. So far he's acted as reluctant to reveal himself as I have—more so, almost. I don't know." She sighed, frustrated with the confusion the situation was causing.

"Say no more, we can discuss it later. When the car comes around for you, go straight to it and don't let anyone stop you on your way." Green said, only a tinge of worry evident in his voice, but it softened her heart to hear that he cared about her wellbeing-even though he knew she could handle herself.

"I'll be there as soon as possible, I promise." she intoned, like a dutiful cadet.

"I'll wait up for you!" he said quickly, before suddenly hanging up. The word "don't" was poised on her lips and he probably knew it.

With a small smile at his childlike antics, she hung the phone up and turned to look back at the man down the hall. He was looking down at his phone, but after a moment he seemed to sense her gaze and looked up. There was an expression on his face that Artemis couldn't quite match. It wasn't questioning or curious, like she expected, but it wasn't pitying or solem either. His green eyes were lit up a little and his face had lost its harsh lack of emotion. He seemed almost amiable, friendly. Slowly she walked back over to him, not taking her eyes off his face.

"I never properly introduced myself." was the first thing he said. "My name is Wallace. Call me Wally."

"Artemis Crock." she replied. He didn't offer a last name, but the nurse had already given hers away so she saw no point in withholding it. It wasn't unusual to meet someone who didn't give their whole name away on an island like this one. Not everyone was evil, but everyone had their secrets.

"You arranged for somewhere to stay for the night, I assume?" he asked without infliction.

He was speaking so formally, in such contrast to what he had been like earlier, that her mind detached itself from her emotions of its own accord and she looked at him with utter objectivity for the first time since catching his gaze before letting him run to his death for her. He was young on the outside, maybe her own age, but his eyes held the weight of years beyond them both. He was tan and well-built to suit his narrow runner's frame and taller than her by several inches. Freckles sprinkled his nose and cheekbones, lessening somewhat the harsh edges of his features. He stood like a soldier, feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind his back, looking relaxed despite appearing not to breathe. His green eyes caught her every shift, every exhale, and the unwarranted attention threatened to put her on edge.

This man is dangerous, her instincts screamed. Yet, when she managed to pull herself back from that place without a conscience, she still saw someone she understood, someone not so unlike herself. He looked tired. Everything he projected about himself said otherwise—and that was how she knew. She could understand this, too. She herself had done it countless times.

"Would you like to come with me?" She blurted suddenly, rather than answering his question—but, for once, thinking after speaking, she saw that it was the perfect solution. Green wouldn't mind, she was sure; he would probably relish the chance to interview the man for himself before the whole island got to him and scared him off—or made him suspicious—and the rumor mill churned out tainted information.

But Wally looked so shocked at the suggestion that for a moment she could glimpse, through the layers of lies that made up his hard outer shell, that he was no better off here than she was. He seemed, for a moment, weak—and it disturbed her, because she realized she had been thinking of him as this solid rock and that wasn't what he deserved. He was just a man—braver than most, but still only human.

How had she let herself become so dependent on someone so quickly?

The moment passed and the walls went up again, but she didn't second-guess herself, something had just happened here between them.

"I—" Wally stopped. She could tell he was searching for the right way to say whatever his answer was—or was attempting to formulate an excuse. "I don't think that will be necessary." he said carefully, finally, and seemed so pleased with his answer that his hands unclasped and shifted to his pockets.

But now she was determined. "Why not? I need to thank you properly, anyhow—don't think you'll be imposing, that argument won't work anywhere on this island so you might as well give up thinking of using it here and now. You don't have to stay all night, you can leave whenever you like, but have dinner with us first. Please, it's the least I can do after you saved my mother's life. I can never totally repay you for that, I know, but I have to try..." She was laying it on thick, making him think she felt guilty, but in the two and a half minutes since she invented the idea it had become important to her that she saw how Wally handled Green. It was almost as important as seeing how Green handled Wally.

He fought with himself, she could see the battle wreaking havoc on his brain as plainly as if it was written across his forehead, but logic won out in the end just as she knew it would. It would be more suspicious of him not to show, at this point, since he had established himself as a caring sort of gentleman and could hardly deny a girl who felt guilty about his heroic deed the chance to thank him properly.

* * *

_I tend to hate these tagged-on commentary boxes, but in the end I realized that I needed to thank everyone who liked or favorited this based only on the first chapter of my story, because I honestly did not expect that anyone would care about it at all. I really do appreciate the advice and reviews; beyond anything that encourages me to keep going. My goal is to update regularly, but I don't want to mislead anyone or let anyone down by promising anything before I know how I want to set my schedule, and I apologize in advance for being flaky, if the conclusion of this story is even worthy of your anticipation. I have big plans, but things are going to get a bit...twisted, before all is said and done. _


End file.
